Siv RedThistle glides into a room with the grace of an Olympic gymnast and a skilled hunter all rolled into one. His long lean golden body has barely an ounce of fat anywhere on it. Iridescent shimmering green eyes scan the room from beneath his flowing red headscarf & hood. Hidden within all his guile & grace is an oily roughness comprised of old patchwork leather straps, a rusty curved knife, and several tiny scars from his years of sleeping in the streets. Yet, despite it all, the warm smile of a curious Tabaxi rarely escapes his lips. And if you look quick enough, you might catch him sneaking a crust of bread into his pocket to be nibbled away at by a small mottled brown house mouse.

Spoken Languages

Common, Thief & Orc

Poems written by Siv

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